


Check Ups

by donteattheappleshook



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 07:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19313248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donteattheappleshook/pseuds/donteattheappleshook
Summary: I wrote this story ages ago for the Captain Swan Storybook and realised I never uploaded it to Ao3!A series of missing scene from 2x12 "In the Name of the Brother".





	Check Ups

The first time she checks in on him is to find out information about Cora and all she gets for it is a snarky comment and an innuendo.

\- - -

The second time, she just peeks into his room to make sure he hasn’t taken off or escaped. At least that’s what she’s telling herself. Maybe, _maybe,_ on some level, she also just needs to make sure he’s still breathing. Maybe she feels a bit guilty about that blow to the ribs she gave him earlier – not that he didn’t have it coming.

Leaning against the open doorway, she almost lets out a sigh of relief when she sees he’s sleeping. He looks rough. She hadn’t noticed before, too pissed off to really care about his wellbeing. Pissed off at him for what he did to Belle, pissed off at Gold for trying to kill someone in front of the goddam sheriff, pissed off at some stranger for driving into town and screwing up all their lives… Yeah, he looks rough. His face is covered in scrapes and dried blood. There’s some nasty looking bruising starting to form around the worst of them. And even though he seems sound asleep, she can still make out the slight frown on his usually smug brow, wincing in pain.

But he’s breathing. That’s all she cared to check up on she reminds herself. She straightens to leave and go back to the chaos that is the waiting room – she’s honestly about two seconds away from slapping a dwarf – when she hears him speak.

“How now, Swan? No cool cloth to soothe my fevered brow?”

She freezes. His eyes are still closed but even from across the room she can see the stupid smug smirk pulling up the corners of his lips on his stupid smug face. _Asshole._ She crosses her arms over her chest, eyeing him.

“I think your fevered brow will be just fine without my help, Hook,” she bites back.

His eyes crack open, finally giving up the charade entirely. He gives her a look that’s all hooded eyes and dirty promises and she crosses her arms more firmly over her chest, holding her ground.

“Perhaps. But I can think of some other fevered places you could help soothe,” he says, his voice low and rough – whether from pain or sleep she’s not sure but she reels against the little flicker of heat that laps at her belly, channeling it into annoyance instead and glaring at him. His smirk is way too self-satisfied for her liking.

Poking her head out into the hall she catches the eye of the nurse she’d spoken to earlier when they’d first come in.

“Nurse?” The woman looks up from the file in her hand and walks over. “This patient has been complaining about pain. Maybe we could do something about his morphine?” She makes a point to casually run her fingers over her badge, drawing attention to it, and the nurse hurries into the room, fiddling with buttons on Hook’s drip.

Hook flashes her a confused and slightly unsettled look. “What the bloody hell is morphine?” he asks, addressing her and not the nurse.

It’s Emma’s turn to smile smugly. “It’s medicine. It’ll soothe all your sore places. Don’t worry, you’ll like it,” she says when he moves to protest but winces at the impact the motion has on his ribs, “It’s like rum but without the hangover,” she tells him. _And it will shut you the hell up_. She adds to herself.

For a moment he looks like he’s still considering arguing, but soon, a placated expression falls over his face as the drugs hit him and in a second his eyes are fluttering closed.

“Sweet dreams, Hook,” she tells him, grinning as she makes her way out of the room.

\- - -

The third time, it’s because she hears him calling out. She’s walking past his room when she hears the guttural cry of a man in agony. Her first thought is ‘ _what the hell has he done to himself now_?’ Her second is that Gold’s found him.

Adrenaline rushing, hand groping for a weapon she isn’t carrying, she bursts through the door in full sheriff mode, ready to stop Gold before he can finish the job. Instead, she finds Hook, alone, writhing on the bed, sweat covering his forehead and what she can see of his neck and chest - slick and sticky. His eyes are shut tight, his face contorted in a painful grimace as he whimpers in his sleep. Nightmares. The morphine must be getting to him.

She feels trapped where she stands at the foot of the bed, unsure of what to do, whether to wake him or leave him to his demons. In his mumbling she makes out a word – a name. More than one. Ghosts he’s calling out for. Someone called Liam and someone called Bae. Tears run down to mix with the sweat soaking his pillow and his clothes.

He writhes again, violently this time, rambling what sound like protests, and Emma snaps to action, worried that he’ll do even more damage to himself than the car already has. She steps forward, back straight, hands on her hips, like she’d approach a perp she was going to arrest.

“Hook,” she calls his name sternly, loud enough, she hopes, to wake him from his fitful sleep. He only continues to twist and turn under the sheet, his head snapping back and forth as his good hand strains against the cuff, grasping for something that isn’t there. “ _Hook!”_ she tries again, louder this time.

He lets out a sound between a shout and a sob – the gasping cry sticking in his throat and wrapping around a name: ‘ _Milah_ ’. That’s one Emma recognizes. The infamous woman from the tattoo. The one from long ago.

“Hook,” she tries again, coming to sit on the bed beside his sobbing, thrashing body. She doesn’t know what to do. She’s never seen him like this. She’s never seen anyone like this. Not since her days in the system, when kids used to wake up screaming. Wake _her_ up screaming. But then you just learned to roll over and fall back asleep. Better to ignore it – pretend it hadn’t happened. She can’t ignore it this time though. He’s going to seriously hurt himself if he doesn’t stop. If he doesn’t wake up.

Her hands hover awkwardly over him, looking for somewhere to settle where she won’t hurt him. She places one over his chest, trying to shake him awake and he whimpers, flinching away from her touch. “Hook, hey,” she says soothingly, reaching to touch his shoulder this time. “Killian. Wake up.”

He bolts upright, gasping, chest heaving and breath ragged. His eyes dart around the room, panicked, frightened and unfocused – not truly awake.

“Hey, it’s fine. Just a dream,” she tells him. She tries to keep the soft, gentle edge out of her voice but it slips through and his eyes zero in on her – gaze foggy, still more asleep than awake, but there’s a hint of recognition there.

“Swan,” he says, almost like a whisper, almost like he’s not quite sure it is her, and he allows himself to be eased back down onto the pillow by her hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” she answers because she’s not really sure what else to say. “Just… go back to sleep.”

His eyes are still glassy, but he’s calmer now, his breathing back to normal. And in a minute, he’s asleep again.

\- - -

            The fourth time, _he_ finds _her_ and she’s honestly almost relieved to see him because it gets her out of a really awkward conversation with her mom. She’s stuttering, trying to find the most delicate way to tell her mother that, while she’s happy to have finally found them, she’s not sure she’s willing to give up things like indoor plumbing and bear claws, when Hook wanders in, babbling on about Jello. _Seriously?_ She leaves the guy alone for 2 minutes so that she can get a coffee and check up on how the surgery’s going and he manages to break out of his handcuffs and go off on a little adventure. _Seriously?_

            “Oh, hello. You’re quite real aren’t you?” he says, giving Ruby a once over. His eyes are heavy lidded and she can’t tell if it’s because of the drugs or if it’s an attempt at seduction. It’s pathetic. He’s clearly still high out of his mind – the man can barely stand up straight on his own – and he still thinks he’s God’s gift to women.

            “Go. Eat. Your Jello,” she tells him, grabbing hold of his dressing gown to lead him out of the waiting room and into the hall.

            “Now, Swan, there’s no need to be jealous,” he says. Emma rolls her eyes.

            “Yeah, in your dreams, pal.”

            “Mmm,” he hums, “most nights, yes.” She gives him a shove, sending him stumbling into his room. He grunts. “Let it never be said that Captain Hook doesn’t like things a little rough, but I can’t help but notice that you’re being a little brusquer than your usual, violence-prone self.

            Emma ignores him, choosing instead to give him another rough shove so that he’s laying back on his bed again. He sighs.

            “Alright, love, have it your way. Though I must admit that in my current state you’ll probably have to do all the work,” he tells her with a lecherous grin.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, she moves over to his other side so that she can refasten the cuff around his wrist. She snaps it shut tight and he winces.

            “Really, Swan. What have I done to deserve this degree of manhandling?” He asks a bit more seriously this time. That really pisses Emma off because if he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong then he’s exactly the type of person she thought he was the last time she snapped handcuffs on his wrist.

            “You shot Belle,” she tells him – _reminds him_ for the second time that night.

            “Not mortally,” he answers breezily, as though that makes it all okay. Emma doesn’t have time for this. She’s got a man in the operating room who may or may not end up changing everything about her life -- just as it was finally starting to go right for her. She checks the lock on the handcuffs once more before turning to storm out of the room.

            “I’m an expert marksman,” he says to her back. She doesn’t stop walking. “Look, if I’d wanted to hit the lass anywhere other than her shoulder, I would have. But I didn’t.” He’s almost calling out after her, like he has something to prove. She really doesn’t want to hear anything he has to say about this – doesn’t want to hear him try justify it. “I did her a favour,” he says and Emma freezes. She turns to look at him finally, rage bubbling just below the surface.

            “ _What?_ ” Hook nearly flinches back at the level of venom and disgust wrapped around the one word. “You _shot_ her. You took away her memories. Everything she knows, everyone she loves is just... gone. Because of _you._ ”

            Hook sets his jaw, his mouth drawing into a hard line. “She’s better off for it. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into with a man like that.” He’s not looking at her anymore, speaking more to himself than to her. “It turns my stomach to think of another kind, smart, strong woman in the Crocodile’s clutches. Not again.”

            Emma pauses, the cutting remark she had ready to fire back at him dulling on her tongue as she takes in his words. ‘Not again.’ Everything starts to fall into place at once – including Gold’s comment from earlier: _‘You took her first.’_

            “Hook. Who was Milah?” She asks him seriously, heart racing in fear that his answer will be exactly what she’s expecting.

            “She was my love,” he answers. The same answer he always gives.

            “Who else was she?” she presses.

            Hook finally turns to her, meeting her gaze and something unspoken passes between them. Something sober.

            “She was his wife. But she didn’t love him. She loved me. And he killed her for it.” He looks away, fist clenching. She can see the muscle twitch in his jaw and she knows he’s trying to hold himself together. Whether to keep from falling to pieces or succumbing to rage she isn’t sure. But she feels for him. She needs to go check on Belle, she tells herself, heading for the door again -- make sure that the new, scared, curse-version of her is okay. And maybe make sure that Gold isn’t hanging around her. She’s seen too many women in that position.             

She pauses, for just a second with her hand on the door, not turning around. “I’m sorry,” she tells him before pulling it shut and leaving him to his melancholy.

\- - -  

When she next checks in on him it’s because she needs to get away. She’d been waiting for hours while Whale was (finally) in surgery. Leg bouncing, hands fidgeting over the empty coffee cup that she’s nearly torn to shreds at this point. She can’t stop thinking. She doesn’t want Greg to die. She doesn’t. But she also doesn’t want to lose the family she’s only just found. Leroy’s comments about Splash and E.T. keep playing over in her mind and the scenarios in her head keep getting worse and more elaborate. She needs a distraction and checking up on Hook to make sure he hasn’t taken off again is as good an excuse as any.

“Swan!” he exclaims happily when she comes into the room. “Careful, love. If you make any more visits I may start to think that you like playing nursemaid as much as you like the handcuffs,” he tells her with a raised eyebrow. He gives the handcuffs a little jiggle for good measure and they rattle against the bedframe.

Emma rolls her eyes but smiles at him all the same. This is exactly what she needed -- Hook and his snarky comments to distract her. Something to make her feel better, and while she hates to admit it, bantering with Hook, the constant battle to one-up each other, makes her feel better.

She parks herself on the edge of his mattress pausing to make what is a plausible show of checking the handcuffs while she speaks. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just here to make sure you don’t die before I have the chance to arrest you.”

Hook grins, that full smile that lights up his whole face and pulls his lips back over his teeth and for just a second her breath stalls in her chest. _‘You are a tough lass.’_

“No need to make excuses, love, you can just admit that you fancy me.” He’s doing that thing with his eyebrows again and Emma almost barks out a laugh.

“What the hell could have _possibly_ given you that impression?”

He leans in as much as his damaged body will let him, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Well, for one thing, I still happen to be missing a favorite scarf -- one given away in a dashing act of chivalry, in fact,” he adds, pulling back and giving her a shit eating grin at what must clearly be the red flushing over her entire face.

 _Shit._ She doesn’t have an answer to that. He’s completely right. She did keep his scarf. She doesn’t know why she kept it -- old and smelling of rum and blood and salt and sea. But she did keep it. She should have thrown it away. But she didn’t. She brought it back with her. All the way from the Enchanted Forest and into a drawer in the sheriff’s station where it’s still resting now, wrapped around his hook. _Shit._

Hook is still rambling away -- probably some innuendo or another about the many uses they could come up with for that scarf. She’s not paying attention -- when she hears it. The tapping of a cane against the linoleum floor of the hallway. _Gold._

“Upside down and --” whatever he’s saying is cut off when Emma slams a hand over his mouth, leaning over him to try hide him from the door she left wide open. _Stupid. Stupid._ _What was she thinking?_

To Hook’s credit, he’s immediately on high alert, body gone tensed and rigid under hers, breath held under her palm as his eyes dart to the door, looking for a danger he can’t see. Emma holds her breath too as the tapping grows louder and louder until… an elderly man with a cane makes his way across the doorway, walking at a glacial pace.

She lets out a huff of air in relief, nearly laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. She lets herself relax, easing back slightly, when she feels the drag of teeth over the skin at the base of her thumb. Her eyes meet his in the narrow space between them, heartbeat suddenly having decided to jump up to a million miles a minute and just like that, she’s right back at the top of the beanstalk with him bent over her hand pulling the scarf tight over her injured palm, looking like something out of a goddamn Harlequin romance. One look at his face is all it takes for her to know that he’s right there with her and she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t affecting her - just as much as it had then.

She snaps her hand back as though it’s been burned (or bit).

“Sorry,” she stutters out. I thought I heard Gold coming.” The heated, knowing look stays on his face for a fraction of a second longer and she’s hoping, practically begging him to let it drop - not to make this more than it is - more than she’s able or willing to handle. He blinks and his usual, nonchalant, mirthful expression is back in place, raised eyebrow and all.

“Sure, the Dark One was coming… There was a trip wire…” He grins at her and she rolls her eyes.

“Okay, buddy. I think the morphine might have done some permanent damage.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Swan.” Her eyes are going to roll right out of her head if she keeps this up.

“I need to go check on Greg,” She tells him, getting up.

“Who the hell is _Greg_?” he shouts after her and the utter confusion and indignation in his voice leaves her fighting a smile all the way back to the waiting room.

\- - -

The last time she checks on him is well after they’ve all come home from the hospital. Emma is dead on her feet, about to fall asleep in her cereal before Gold drops by to collect his favour.

She tells the others that she needs to pick up some things she left at the sheriff’s station before they went out on the call earlier in the night. It’s not a lie. It’s one hundred percent what she intends to do. But somehow, she finds herself making one final stop at the hospital. She’s not going to check on him. _She’s not._ She’s going to warn him. Gold threatened his life less than an hour ago and while he’s leaving town, he’ll be back, and Emma can’t protect Hook forever. That’s why she’s going. That’s it.

She repeats it like a mantra as she stands outside his door, finally feeling stupid for standing out there so long in the hallway and pushing her way in. He’s asleep, or he was asleep, but he stirs when the door opens. He looks around briefly, dazed and sleep-rumpled, but the corner of his lips quirk up in half a smile when he notices her.

“Don’t worry, Swan. Still breathing,” he promises her. His voice is gritty from sleep and it’s almost endearing.

“I just came by to warn you,” she tells him, stepping closer, hands in her back pockets. “Gold is after you. As soon as Whale clears you, you need to get out of this hospital and hide yourself. Not on your ship - that’s the first place he’ll look. Find somewhere and lay low because the guy is out for blood.” Okay. She’s finished her speech. She’s said what she came to say. She can leave now. Just turn around and leave.

“Aw, love, I didn’t know you cared.” Emma lets out a huff of laughter, letting her head fall back because he’s really just too much but she’s so tired and so stressed and she could use a laugh right now.

“I just don’t want to see you dead, Hook,” she corrects him. He grins, looking incredibly proud of himself.

“See,” he says, both eyebrows nearly shooting up to his hairline. “I knew you fancied me.” He’s trying to flirt. She knows he is. He’s always trying to flirt with her. Even when they’re fighting. The man can’t help himself. But whether it’s because she’s too tired or because he’s wrapped up in a dressing gown and tucked up, half asleep in bed with his hair sticking up in the back, she can’t bring herself to be annoyed by it this time.

“Just… Don’t let him kill you, okay?” she finishes, looking at him and trying to convey… well, she doesn’t know what exactly but as he looks back at her he seems to find something and he nods, that understanding passing between them again.

She returns it, the silence hanging heavy and loaded between them and turns to leave -- out of reasons to stay.

“I wouldn’t have done it,” he says, his voice like the strike of a match in a dark room. She pauses, turning to face him and waits. “After the beanstalk. You said that I would have taken the compass and left you there… I wouldn’t have.” He’s not looking at her, instead focused on his hand as he plays his middle finger over his thumb. “I just, wanted you to know that,” he finishes, meeting her eye with a smile that’s more of a grimace -- one that says ‘ _I’m clearly trying to make this less than it is. Please don’t call me out on it._ ’

Emma nods. “I know,” she admits, hoping he can do that thing he does where she doesn’t have to say the rest -- open book he said. And she _does_ know. He’d been right up there -- on the beanstalk -- he hadn’t told her a lie. He hadn’t then and he wasn’t now. She bites her lip against the smile before making an attempt to lighten the mood. “...Because you fancy me right?”

Hook lets out a bellowing laugh that seems to take even him by surprise, bursting from his chest of it’s own volition. It takes over him for a moment before he bends over and groans at the pain in his ribs -- the laugh turning into a self-deprecating chuckle. Emma steps up to the side of his bed but he waves her away with his blunted arm.

“Please, Swan, no more morphine. I’ve suffered worse discomfort in my lifetime and I… I could do without the dreams,” he confesses.

She nods and he lays back again, letting out a deep breath as he settles against the pillows, his features still contorted, betraying how much pain he’s in. There’s a bowl on his bedside table, filled with water, and a folded cloth laying beside it. Emma’s hands move before she can even really think about what she’s doing but she finds herself dipping the cloth into the cool water and pressing it against his furrowed brow. She pauses to tend to a wound that’s opened up again above his left eyebrow, wiping away the blood. She doesn’t know why she does it. She just… wants to help.

Hook sighs, the lines on his forehead smoothing away as his breathing evens out.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, barely clinging to wakefulness.

“Don’t mention it.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
